


-Love, me.

by Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drug Addiction, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rock Bottom - Freeform, bare minimum of plot, it couldn't have gotten any worse for sherlock, really - Freeform, shame fic, to give background to the footage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount/pseuds/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount
Summary: Sherlock is sent footage of himself, at possibly the worst time of his life.---This is a bare bones shame fic. B a r e b o n e s. Almost appropriate to call it a headcanon.P.SREAD THE TAGS MATE
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	-Love, me.

  
  


"It's a sensitive matter… apparently."

Sherlock announces to the room. Only the core group is present; Gregson, Bell, Joan and Holmes, and the door is firmly locked at Joan's express request. 

Bell and Gregson notes that she looks slightly pale. 

"It really is," she adds. 

Sherlock's doing that thing, where he has his hands clasped behind his back and is irregularly bouncing onto the balls of his feet, impatient, and understanding that this might indeed be something serious, Gregson asks, "So what the hell is this all about?"

Sherlock nods his head. 

"Well, as you both know by now, around two years ago, I was a regular drug user. From the beginning of my dependency, I'd wager it took about four months for me to become… indistinguishable from any unsavory character you might see on the street."

Bell swallows, uncharacteristically nervous. Hearing about this seems… wrong, for some reason. He almost wishes he wasn't included in the conversation. Joan is fidgeting, and Bell has to consciously prevent himself from copying her. 

"I consider the person from that period of my life, an entirely separate being to who I am now, which is why-"

Joan looks up at that and starts to protest before snapping her mouth shut at a sharp look from her roommate. 

"Which is  _ why,  _ I don't see what all the… fuss, is about."

Joan visibly pales further at this, concern, pity and… outrage? All warring for dominance on her face. 

She sighs, like she doesn't want to rehash an argument they've been having for hours. "You'll thank me for this later."

Sherlock scowls at her briefly before turning his attention back to Gregson and Bell, the former of which looks like he's on the brink of telling Holmes to  _ get the fuck on with it.  _

"I personally think all this cloak and dagger nonsense is pointless when we could just hand it over to the techies to track her down, and I can go back to my essay on the migration habits of wild African-"

Gregson does. "Can you  _ please  _ get the fuck on with it?"

Joan takes out a brown, rectangular envelope from her handbag, and drops it immediately onto Gregson's desk as if it burns her, where it clatters hollowly. 

Sherlock eyes it as Bell picks it up, and starts to talk. 

"At the time… I don't need to explain to you the hardwiring of a heavy user's brain."

The envelope has already been opened. 

"When I wasn't high, the only issue I could focus on for any amount of time was how I could  _ get  _ high. Stealing… selling…" He looks like he's about to say something else, but trails off, which is very unusual from Sherlock. 

Bell pulls a VHS tape from the envelope. 

It's plain except for a label, where, written in a messy hand, are the words  _ " seulment pour les yeux de ma cherie" _ . 

"What does that mean?" Gregson asks, craning his head. 

Joan coughs. "For the eyes of my sweetie… or my dear, only."

Before anyone can reply to that, Sherlock quickly interjects, "As I was saying, I was capable of doing…  _ anything,  _ for that next hit. Things that the me now would be extremely ashamed of." 

He hates that he feels the need to explain himself to them. This would all be avoided if they could just hand the tape to strangers who didn't know him, and wouldn't care.

"There's a note in the envelope," Joan says quietly. 

Bell pulls it out, reads it, then hands it to Gregson. 

"I was a different person back then," Sherlock repeats. "I remember very little of that time, especially any of what happens on that tape."

_ Don't worry. I won't share it for now. _

_ -Love, me _

"What is this…" Gregson growls. "Blackmail?"

"It certainly looks that way, Captain."

"What's on the tape, Sherlock?" Bell asks, eyebrow quirked.

Sherlock takes a beat to answer. 

"My rape."

\---

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"We don't have to watch-" 

"See, they don't want to watch it!" 

" _I_ don't want them to watch it either you idiot. I just don't want you to be so _nonchalant_ about it-" 

"And you'd rather I what- had PTSD? Woke up screaming every night? Would that make you happy?" 

"No! No. I just... I know you, Sherlock. You're being like this to prove a point, even if you're digging a hole for yourself in the future." 

"Being like what?" 

"Threatening to hand your blackmail material over to an entire department-" 

"I wasn't threatening-" 

"Acting _so_ damn oblivious, when to some extent, you obviously care. And I do to. I don't want this to bite you in the back, when some arch enemy or other gets a hold of it and starts this whole shit show all over again, and with you? It's a fucking inevitability." 

Heavy, frustrated breathing, and a quiet sigh. Sherlock addresses the two, silent detectives in the room. 

"Well, me and Joan have already seen the tape. There are few clues to the woman's identity, or location, which is _why_ I wanted to hand this over to experts, but... I suppose you two are the second best alternatives." 

"Trustworthy," she adds, murmured.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


\---

_ The footage is silent at first, obviously handheld, Sherlock's pale body and the dark, grimy surroundings coming in and out of view as the lense is flipped around.  _

_ Suddenly there's sound.  _

_ "-od, this thing is [undecipherable]" _

_ Rustling off camera. And the camera moves closer to Sherlock's face, his eyes heavy lidded.  _

Hey, mon cherie, how does it feel?

_ It's a woman holding the camera, and she croons soft platitudes, as her sharply manicured fingers push sweaty hair from his forehead.  _

Like heaven, I bet… came in here strung out as all hell, didn't you- didn't he babe. Hey, didnt-

_ The voice quiets down as she turns away from the camera to address "babe".  _

_ Sherlock breathes out, long and slow, then in again, blinking only once during the murmured conversation. It's hard to tell if he's conscious until he weakly clears his throat and starts to ask, mumbled but intelligibly, if he's being filmed.  _

_ He jerks as if being slightly pulled down the mattress he's laying on by his feet, and he loses his train of thought.  _

Put your arms up sweetheart-

_ A pair of rough hands come into frame, pushing Sherlock's shirt up his torso, letting it gather around his armpits which is when he starts to squirm slightly,  _

He's ticklish, babe,

_ and the camera shakes with laughter as the man now crouching over Sherlock pulls the shirt up and over his head to more unvoiced, limp protest.  _

_ "I'm not… ticklish," Sherlock says in faint indignation, which only leads to crowing from the camerawoman.  _

_ "I'm-" he's cut off by two fingers in his mouth. Muffled grunts turns into gagging sounds,  _

Desole, mon petit, try your best

_ And the fingers come out, glistening, and disappear from the frame. Sherlock's lips, slightly reddened, part two seconds later in a sort of muted shock.  _

_ He's trying to inch his way up the bed, away from what's happening off screen, until the woman stops him only with a firm grip on his shoulder, her nails pinching half into his skin.  _

_ In the lighting, you can't see the ring of green around his pupils.  _

_ He moans lowly, and presses his head hard against his raised bicep, and he jerks again, his torso yanked down.  _

_ Sherlock curses clumsily under his breath.  _

_ Then you can only hear the man's heavy breathing and the creaking of the springs as Sherlock is rhythmically forced into the mattress, then it's breathless laughter from the woman as she lets the camera drop and the ceiling comes into frame, the peeling floral pattern broken by spots of mold.  _

putain, you're a fucking whore, Mr Holmes. __

_ Gargled choking, now _

_ The woman's voice, she's muttering the filthiest sentiments you could ever hear, but she somehow sounds fond of her  _ "little junkie slut" _ ,  _

_ and as the man's groans grow louder, and pitchier, her dirty talk is swamped under it, until finally, a minute later, there's a brief silence, followed by a very loud creak indeed.  _

_ Two rapid beeps indicate low battery.  _

_ The camera is picked up again, and for a short moment, the entire scene is visible. Sherlock lies face down on the mattress, breathing hard, though not as hard as you might expect from someone who's just been victimized, or at least, someone who fully understands they've been victimized (or someone who's fully conscious at all), and "babe" lies collapsed next to him, gasping and masked by shadow. Sherlock, genius that he is, unique and strange and wonderful and flawed being that he is, doesn't look out of place in the grimy setting of a heroin den.  _

_ The camera is back in its original position now zoomed in close onto Sherlock, and when her hand pushes his head so his face is visible, its easy to see that that the darkness of his eyes isn't due to the lighting.  _

_ Her fingers trace his cheek, then his ear, and his pupils are blown out, looking stark black and glazed, on another planet.  _

_ He looks, everyone thinks, as high as a fucking kite.  _

Beautif-

_ The camera cuts out.  _

_ \--- _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm reasonably happy with this right now, but am painfully aware that the innumerable mistakes will leap out at me the MOMENT I post the fic. So I'm ignoring it for now. Feel free to point them out in the comments, and I will get to it at some point!  
> Point out anything else in the comments as well- I like hearing what you think.


End file.
